


Unexpected

by CrystallicSky



Series: Oneshots [9]
Category: Xiaolin Showdown (Cartoon)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mpreg, Schmoop, vaguely cracky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-26
Updated: 2008-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystallicSky/pseuds/CrystallicSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who knew Hannibal Bean had such a rotten sense of humor?</p><p>Chase is quite the unhappy camper, but Jack couldn't be more tickled pink if he tried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected

Chase huffed in sheer agitation and discomfort, all different _kinds_ of unhappy with his situation.

What was worst about it, the man supposed, was that it was due, in major part, to his own unawareness that he was now the way he was. If he had known the consequences and the potential result of the combination of factors of that night, he _never_ would have gone through with it.

Ah, but leave it Hannibal to put such a nasty catch on his gift of immortality!

"Spicer," he snarled impatiently, arms folded over his chest, "I told you I was hungry nearly an _hour_ ago. I don't expect to wait all day while you laze around!"

"Oh, sorry, sweetie," the goth soothed, emerging from the kitchen of his home with a freshly-cooked, absolutely succulent-looking dinner, "I tried to make it as fast as I could, but I didn't want it to turn out shoddily-done. Only the best for my cuddle-muffin!"

Oh, how Chase _loathed_ these insipid, infantile pet-names Jack had been giving him lately! He had tried all manner of threat and intimidation to make them stop, but as he really hadn't the leverage to back up said threats, it was all but hopeless to get the moron to cease. He was daily forced to endure things like 'cuddle-muffin' and 'honey' and 'sweetie'.

As the plate was handed to him, he immediately snatched it away without so much as a 'thank you', just as soon informing in a disgruntled tone, "My back hurts."

Having been trained quite well by now and otherwise fairly eager to do _anything_ he could for his discontented lover in his time of need, Jack instantly sidled up behind the man on the large, roomy couch and put his skillful hands to work on the sore muscles of his back, neck, and shoulders with the delighted chirp of, "Let me rub it for you!"

Another thing Chase decided he hated (although at this point, it'd simply be easier to keep a list of what he _didn't_ hate) was his lover's excessively cheerful demeanor, always so godsdamned _happy_. How _dare_ that worm be happy when he was miserable?!

And maybe that was why he'd occupied himself in ordering the albino around without mercy, making harsh, borderline _cruel_ demands in order to try and drag down the unflappable mood.

It hadn't worked a smidge.

Jack was _used_ to being commanded to traverse the globe to obtain things (granted, though, not by Chase), _used_ to being treated like crap, and now that it was a combination of enduring both things, but this time in order to make the man he loved happy, it seemed as though the goth were vying for an Olympic medal in the event.

Chase could honestly think of no other reason that Jack would gladly go to Belgium for chocolate, Paris for black truffles, and Canada for dried and salted cod all in one day and still be so damnably _chipper_ while serving them for dinner.

But no, it seemed the albino was there to serve and annoy him for the long-haul, despite how badly the warlord wished he'd leave sometimes, if just for a day.

Once Chase had finished his dinner (which had been grudgingly delicious), his lover eased off on his ministrations, questioning, "Feel any better?"

And of course, the massage, too, had been flawless, leaving the older man to mutter an unwilling, "Yes..."

Jack Spicer performed outstandingly well under this kind of pressure.

Said young man pressed his cheek to the back of Chase's neck, his hands slipping under the warlord's arms to rest affectionately upon the firm swell of his stomach as he softly declared, "I love you, Chase."

The warlord huffed with a growled, "Shut up," as he pushed the hands away, only for them to return a second later insistently. "Don't touch me there!" he commanded with a sudden grunt of slight pain.

"Why not, hon?" Jack cooed, delighting in the movement he felt beneath his palms.

"Because whenever you touch my stomach, it kicks me!" Chase glowered, trying to rid himself of the goth's agitating presence, but largely unsuccessful in the effort. The months of being bedridden and forbidden to train his body had taken their toll, and now he was just about as weak as, he shuddered at the thought, _Spicer_!

"Chase," his lover tsked disapprovingly, forcing down the small struggles, "we talked about this: it's a 'she', remember?"

"No," he frowned darkly, "it's an 'it'. 'It' is a demon bent on making my life a living _hell_ by turning me into a weak, fat, lazy _pig_!"

"Aw, sweetie," the albino crooned gently, "you're not _any_ of those things..." He managed to turn the man around to face him, pushing him gently onto his back and straddling his hips. "You're just going through some lifestyle changes 'cause of the baby. It's not permanent."

"I don't care," Chase snorted, annoyed with the current position, " _I_ should not be forced to suffer this indignity; _you're_ the bitch."

Jack smiled, not at all upset with the crude reference to his position in the relationship, and he situated himself between his lover's legs, moving so that he lay with his cheek to the once finely-muscled, washboard stomach now swollen with his child.

"I know I'm the bitch, and it'll go back to that once you have the baby. I think you think you're gonna be like this forever and that I think you're some kinda stupid woman for being pregnant. Well, you're not, and I don't. So what Hannibal Bean made it so you could get knocked up when he changed your body to be immortal? So what you finally let me be on top on the night when your chances of getting pregnant were highest what with the combination of the 25 percent fertility boost from doing it doggy-style and the 60 percent from the full moon, giving you a full 85 percent chance of conceiving—" the goth stopped the prattling of his inner-mathematician at the fierce scowl Chase was giving him and smiled sheepishly, getting himself back on track. "The point being, I don't think any less of you. To me, you're still Chase Young, Ultimate Sexy Heylin Badass."

Golden eyes went wide at this sentiment, and slowly, hesitantly, the man laid a hand on his stomach. He hardly ever touched it, as every time he did, he was reminded of the swollen mockery of a once-proud warrior he'd become (absolutely _no amount_ of magic would allow him to wear his armor at this point, and that fact shamed him like nothing else). Now, though, the deep-seated embarrassment and disgrace were mysteriously absent, and he really wasn't sure _how_ he felt about being pregnant anymore, only further confused when the child inside of him wriggled excitedly under his hand.

"How?" he demanded of the albino, his tone surly and standoffish. "How can you respect me when I am this?"

Jack gave his lover one of those 'duh' expressions, informing, "I love you, Chase. I could _give_ a shit what you look like. You're still the you I fell in love with, y'know."

The man was silent for a long moment, determined to make Jack realize how badly this sucked. "Children are hard work. You're only excited about it because you've no idea what you're getting into."

"You're right," the goth admitted honestly, "I don't have a goddamn clue what I'm getting into, but it doesn't matter. I'm getting into it with you. That's enough for me."

Chase's inner-dragon purred at the statement, smitten with his mate's dedication to him despite the unwanted (at least on _his_ part) role reversal, only to sigh raggedly.

"What's wrong, snuggle-bear?"

Not even twitching at the newest of the nicknames, the older male answered, "I miss making love to you. I hate that it—...the child has come between us in that respect."

"You want to fuck?" Jack asked bluntly, "We can fuck if you want to."

"If that's so, then why haven't you touched me in nearly five months?" he questioned suspiciously, "Were all those words lies and you _are_ simply repulsed by me?"

"No, you're hot, Chase, knocked up or not," the goth assured with a smirk, sliding a hand _just_ into the loose, silken robe his lover had chosen to slip on that morning. "I just didn't want to push you or anything, and it didn't seem like you wanted me to. I figured you were pissed at me enough as it is, so I didn't...but, if you want to do it, I'm _all_ for that."

"Yes," the man easily decided, "I'm 'for it', as well. I want you..."

Jack grinned, leaning in for a heated kiss (and somehow managing to accomplish it with minimal awkwardness from both their positions and Chase's current figure) as he threaded his fingers through the slightly sleep-mussed black-green hair, his lover's hands already fervently removing his jacket.

Imagine his surprise when, trying to allow the older man control, he was purposefully given submission!

"Mmh, Chase?" he questioned, breaking away and looking at his lover in mild confusion. "You want _me_ to be on top again?"

"And why not?" Chase growled, a fog of lust clouding his eyes as he forcefully wrenched the goth's shirt from his body. "It's not as if it could cause any _more_ problems..."

"No, I guess not," Jack admitted, giving the pregnant warlord a good, long look. "Goddamn, babe, but this 'expecting housewife' look is _really_ doing it for me..."

And the man could feel that well enough, that certain part of his lover's anatomy just barely prodding against the prominent curve of his belly, and the sheer _want_ it inspired was nearly enough to drive Chase crazy. He'd been practically abstinent for five months, knowing only the pleasure of his own hand while under the duress of mood swings, back aches, swollen ankles, odd food cravings, and a child that refused to understand that 3:00 AM was _not_ an appropriate time to use his kidney as a punching bag.

Not to mention there was the added distress of having to watch his perfectly-sculpted warrior-body dwindle to the average pregnant female's figure (for gods' sakes, he actually had _love-handles_!) over the course of his eight-month gestation—and for the love of all that was evil, he still had another hellish month or so of horror to go.

Even _he_ knew that right now, he needed to just fucking unwind, and dammit, he was _not_ going to wait around while his lover tried to take it slow for him!

Chase grabbed Jack by the throat, not choking him (at least not yet) but hauling him in close to hiss in his ear, "Listen, Spicer, and listen well: either you fuck me _right now_ or I will _personally_ rip off your testicles and make you eat them."

Feeling a little weird for getting even _more_ turned on by the threat, the albino slid his lover's black robe off of gold-skinned shoulders as he amiably agreed, "Sure thing, hon..."

 

* * *

 

Jack propped himself up on one elbow, watching Chase sleep.

With the baby robbing him of energy, the warlord really had no staying power these days, but at least they had gotten a few rounds in before he'd succumb to exhaustion and fallen asleep, and that would prove to be beneficial to both of them in the long-run now that it was encroaching upon the final month of pregnancy.

The goth didn't really want to think about the actual _birth_ so soon, as no doubt it would involve a lot of Chase being furious at the one who'd made him go through it and he would probably attempt to castrate him _during_ the proceedings, but still, that was a while away, yet. He had a little time to try and butter the man up some more beforehand and hopefully, by the time he held his daughter, he'd still have his genitals.

Really, though, right now Chase looked so beautifully innocent when he slept, the illusion only augmented by the protective sort of way his body curled around his middle as if to shield the unborn child from any sort of harm.

A white hand reached out to gently skim through the warlord's hair, and, emboldened by the lack of response, negative or otherwise, Jack pulled the larger-framed body up against his, allowing the man's head to lay on his chest. Chase's only reaction to this was to snort softly in his sleep, but it was allowed with no complaint.

Feeling particularly daring, confident that the man was too tuckered out and wouldn't wake up to bite his head off for getting too lovey-dovey with him, he laid his hand on top of the man's belly while keeping the warlord's cheek to his chest.

Normally, where their daughter would have gladly begun to kick and squirm at the slightest chance to be given notice (attention-seeking already being an aspect in which she took after Jack, but was more like Chase in the forceful way she demanded the attention), it now seemed that even _she_ was tired. She still acknowledged the hand of her parent, but with what was more of a twitch than any real kind of movement. Jack was grateful for this, as he knew his lover would have killed him for inciting her usual antics when he was trying to sleep.

God, though, Chase was _cute_ like this, all soft and cuddly and reliant on him instead of the other way around. It made him finally feel useful to the warlord, even though his use wasn't verbally-appreciated.

Ha, if he were awake to see their intimate position and the dumb, lovestruck look on the goth's face, the man would be _quite_ unhappy. He hated being mollycoddled unless it was at his own orders.

But it was late, and Jack was tired, too, and so he settled down beside his lover, infinitely glad of Hannibal's little 'practical joke.' Without it, he'd probably _never_ have gotten the opportunity to have a child, and as Chase unconsciously snuzzled up beside him, he knew he wouldn't trade that for anything in the world.

Sure, it was going to get harder from here on out, but he was going to be a father, soon. The sheer pride in that thought, only heightened by the conjoined thought of making his idol, _the_ Chase Young, a mother in the process, made him feel like he could handle anything.

So long as Chase loved him, he'd go through Hell to make sure everything worked out in the end, and as the warlord had long ago assured him before his thoughts had been clouded and his emotions stirred up by a pesky excess of female hormones, that love was eternal.


End file.
